


The More Things Change

by NightFoliage



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Clan, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Holiday Exchange, M/M, Ma Kent - Freeform, Mutual Pining, SuperBat, Superbat Secret Santa 2017, batfam, general rating besides the shipping, mostly pre52 universe, other heroes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13274964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFoliage/pseuds/NightFoliage
Summary: Prompt: Bruce and Clark have loved one another for years. They’re both aware of these feelings, though it’s never discussed between them and they refuse to act on them – Bruce because there are a thousand reasons it’s a bad idea, and Clark because he knows it’s not something Bruce would ever allow himself. Everyone from the Justice League to the batfam tries to intervene.Additional Summary: A Holiday Exchange in the Watchtower.





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capsicleonyourleft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsicleonyourleft/gifts).



> Author’s Note: It’s a bit rough, but I finished it! I think I filled the prompt, but mixed in how I feel like things could end with these two.
> 
> Date published (on Tumblr): 12/25/2017
> 
> Edited: 1/4/2017

He stays silent even as Diana shakes the hat in front of him.

“Don’t be a party pooper Bats, just take one,” Hal teases. He’s grinning at him along with a few other Leaguers.

Batman does not curl up on himself, nor does he slap the hat out of Diana’s hands. He doesn't go and punch the smug grin off of Jordan’s face and he certainly does not run towards the teleporters.

Instead, he grabs a name out of the hat. He resists the urge to look at the name and instead folds his arms, tucking the piece of paper into his cape. Some of the other Leaguers look at the him curiously, but Batman stays absolutely still. Diana gives him a smile, and moves on to the next person. The others move their attention with her. 

Batman silently observes the next people take a name. Some people reveal who they've gotten from their reactions, but none of them get his name.

The papers are dwindling when a voice fills the room.

“Sorry, guys, I had to take care of something first,” Superman says, walking briskly towards the group. His eyes are bright and he looks a bit winded. However, his curl isn’t out of place, so it must not have been anything too important. He joins the circle.

“Don’t worry, Superman,” Wonder Woman says. “You didn’t miss the Holiday Exchange. And there’s a name for you inside the hat.”

Flash speeds over and leans against the hero. “What kept you?”

“Cat stuck in a tree?” Lantern asks with a snigger.

“Actually, it was a ball python.” Superman says, dryly. “I think the fire department was happy to let me handle that one.”

Some of the other heroes chuckle, while some shudder.

Batman does neither. He tracks Wonder Woman with his eyes and watches as she brings the hat over to Superman.

“No peeking.”

Superman rolls his eyes and looks away with his eyes closed and picks a name out of the hat.

After he’s picked his name, Wonder Woman finishes distributing the other names. Batman watches as Superman reads his paper, and discreetly puts it away. He does not give away who he has gotten.

Interesting.

He goes back to looking at Wonder Woman when she begins to address everybody. “This is our holiday exchange (not Secret Santa). Normally, there’s a twenty dollar limit, but we’ve scrapped that rule in case people have sentimental priceless gifts. Try to make the gift yourself if you can. Feel free to exchange them at any time, or during the winter party we’re throwing. If you’re unable to do the holiday exchange, then please tell me.”

Everybody quickly agrees and splits off into groups, while Batman slips into a corner unnoticed.

Someone joins him.

“Forgive me, Bruce.” Diana says softly, with a smile. She’s not sorry at all.

He narrows his eyes but no one's listening. At least, no one who doesn’t already know who he is.

“This is not an emergency meeting, Princess,” he murmurs back. “I’m not even a part of the Justice League.”

“Would you have come otherwise?”

He doesn’t answer.

“So can I count on you for the other gifts in case someone isn’t able to get one?” 

He nods and her face turns softer, warmer. “Do you need me to help pick things out?”

Batman shakes his head. “I’ll be able to figure it out.”

She laughs, and for a brief moment everybody glances at her. One person’s gaze lingers for a little longer than usual. He hopes they find a proper gift for Wonder Woman. It would be unfortunate if she as the organizer didn’t receive something special.

“Thank you, Batman.” And with that she makes her way to the others. She draws their gaze away from him and he creeps closer to the zeta tubes. When he’s sure he doesn't have the attention of anyone else and his back is turned towards the rest of the group, he unfolds his piece of paper and reads it.

A moment later he’s teleporting back to earth. If he stayed, he would have stared at Superman the whole night, wondering what to get him.

-000-

“I don’t know what to get him, Ma,” Clark stabs into his pie a little bit harder than usual and winces. Luckily there’s no damage to the plate, or the fork, or the pie.

Blueberry pie.

“You’ve been friends for quite a while, Clark. Surely there’s something you can get him,” his Ma says, puttering around the kitchen. Clark has already been scolded for trying to help. Instead he’s been set to work trying some new pie flavors. There’s a slice of lemon and a slice of rhubarb-strawberry waiting for him.

Clark takes a bite of pie to delay his answer.

How could he explain how important this was to him. That Batman was one of his oldest friends and confidants, someone he trusted with his life. That he needed the perfect gift to show how much the man meant to him.

Thankfully, his mother seems to know anyway and takes pity on him.

“How is the pie, dear?” Martha asks. 

Clark gives her a grateful smile. “It’s really good, Ma. A new recipe right? I’m sure the book club will enjoy it.”

But instead of taking the compliment and pinching his cheek like she normally does, Martha sneaks a bite for herself. She frowns and looks at the pie like it’s a puzzle. Clark shovels another bite in his mouth.

She sighs, “Yes. I suppose it’s good enough for book club. Now try the other ones.”

Clark polishes off the first slice and drinks a glass of milk. Then he starts on the next flavor.

“Why don’t you ask all those kids of his what to get him?” Martha suggests.

Clark protests, “Ma, I can’t do that.” But only because he’s considered it already. Maybe he could ask Dick, and maybe Cass in a pinch, but he knows that telling any of the kids is a sure fire way to get Alfred involved. And he’s not sure if he wants Bruce’s father-figure to find out that he’s trying to find the perfect gift for Bruce.

He’s not ready for that.

If he’s really in a pickle, maybe he’ll ask Alfred.

Martha lets her son stew for a bit, before tutting at him.

“Just make sure to get him something nice and make sure to come back during the holidays so I can give you the pies you wanted.”

Clark nods, grateful. “I’ll make sure to give his family one and the League loves your pies.”

Martha glances at the pies. “Well, I hope they like flavors other than apple.”

Clark wonders what his mom has against apple pie all of a sudden (his favorite), but knows he has other things to worry about.

-000-

It’s only a few days since the exchange and it’s a complete coincidence when Bruce needs to head to Metropolis for business. Bruce makes sure to pack for business of both varieties, and does not allow himself to smirk when he surprises Clark (and the rest of the Daily Planet) with his presence. 

He makes sure to flirt with Cat and Lois gratuitously, makes sure to slap Jimmy on the back, and skillfully negotiates Perry into making Clark get an impromptu quote about anything new at Wayne Enterprises.

Clark still looks a bit gobsmacked when Bruce Wayne mentions that they can talk over lunch.

Clark stutters out, “Uh, well, Mr.Wayne, I don’t know anything good that’s open at 3pm, but-”

Bruce Wayne cuts the reporter off. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Brucie! And sure people are always offering things to me like lobster thermidor with kelp foam, but I’m feeling like something I can really bite into. Know any good places like that, Kent?”

For the first time since he’s stepped into the room, Clark smiles. “I know a good place, er, Bruce.”

-000-

“Finest pizza in Metropolis,” Clark says.

Bruce grunts in response and begins to scarf down his pizza. Clark glances back at the owners, but they’re purposely not paying attention to them and there’s no one else around (luckily).

Then he turns back to Bruce. Clark’s glad that he’s ordered extra because it looks like Bruce hasn’t had a hot meal in a few days. He knows that there’s a particularly troubling case in Gotham involving children so he’s not surprised. He’s just glad he can get him something to eat.

Instead of saying any of that aloud, Clark says: “You could have warned me that you were coming.”

Bruce is in the middle of decimating a bite. He wipes his mouth delicately with a handkerchief (the faker), before saying, “You’re reactions are always best when they’re honest.”

Clark snorts. “You just like getting the drop on people even when you’re not dressed up like a bat.”

Bruce smirks and takes another bite of pizza.

He takes a little bit of pride in making Bruce drop his Brucie Wayne mask, even if it’s at his expense. Once the glow stops he asks, “So why are you here?”

Bruce pauses. Clark can practically see Bruce sorting through all the information in his brain, deciding what not to tell him. It’s okay. He’s a reporter, he’ll figure it out eventually.

“Toyman,” Bruce finally admits.

“Really.” Because Clark hasn’t heard of anything that could hint at Toyman.

“Toy-person. Uses toys to,” and Bruce lips curl enough that it prevents him from eating and Clark’s stomach drops because there aren’t many things that will make Bruce this emotive, “uses toys to make children do their bidding.”

He’s almost afraid to ask, but he has to: “What does he have them do?”

“Anything. Everything. Sometimes it doesn’t even seem like the child is brainwashed, they just do things out of the ordinary. One of them learned how to play a piano concerto overnight, another could suddenly do backflips, and there was a one who scored a perfect SAT.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Clark says, though he’s sure it’s only going to get worse.

“We were sorting through which ones were abnormalities as opposed to those who were naturally talented, when we caught a group that had successfully burgled a bank. Clark, they were all below the age of ten and had skills they had no business of having.”

“Bruce, your kids-”

“My kids grew up that way,” Bruce snaps. “They had been trained from birth to be the way they are. These kids are outliers. Either from families who can’t afford it or the rich and pampered.”

Despite the graveness of the situation, or maybe because of it, Clark lets out a wry chuckle. “Jealous that the young ones don’t have to work to become like Batman, Bruce?”

Bruce stares at him and Clark just manages not to laugh, though he know he’s grinning like the dim hayseed he’s often accused of.

“Maybe, a little,” Bruce says with an eye roll. Then starts to eat his pizza again.

“So, about the kids, are the connections toys?”

Bruce nods.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Surprisingly, or maybe because Bruce is that tired, Bruce doesn’t growl at him to stay out of the case. Instead, he continues to eat his pizza and doesn't answer. That’s as good as a blessing as he’s going to get out of Bruce.

-000-

They're walking back to the Daily Planet, when Clark sees something that catches his eye. They’re passing an antique shop and Bruce immediately memorizes the storefront and the angle Clark glanced at the window.

A day later he drops the Brucie Wayne persona to go back to the shop.

Disappointingly, there’s nothing of note inside. There are a few baseball card he thinks Clark might have been looking at, but no perfect Christmas gift.

There are a few antique puzzle boxes he picks up and the owner looks considerably more welcoming after he flashes the cash. He’s even brought to a private room (he almost chuckles at how shrewd and secretive the owner was, he would have been a great Gothamite) where some of the more expensive prizes are.

He doesn’t spot anything of interest. Mostly it’s old artifacts he might buy later to donate to a museum and a lot of gilded oddities.

Nothing catches his eyes until he spots a golden elephant. Bruce lets himself get drawn into it’s figure. It’s a circus elephant, rearing back on its hind legs.

“Ah! You have a good eye,” the owner says. “It’s also a music box.”

And he turns a hidden piece of the contraption (cleverly placed, he’ll have to keep that in mind), and the whole thing starts to move. The delicate elephant rears back, it’s tusk moves, and it spins on the base. The music tinkles cheerfully, a generic rendition of circus music.

But Bruce is suddenly taken back to an unforgettable night. He remembers Dick, sobbing while holding onto an elephant. Around them the is circus wishing him goodbye and a goodlife as the two of them have solved the murder of the Flying Graysons.

He remembers how happy that elephant made him.

-000-

The case with the toys still hasn’t produced any leads. Following up with Schott and Okamura hasn’t gotten anything and Batman wonders if there is a new player in town. Maybe Mad Hatter? It’s not his MO, but giving children skills is such an usual thing…

He takes apart some of the toys and finds, something. They’re certainly not normal manufactured toys. They’ve been crafted with care and made to look like the other toy.

He’s taking some time to mull over the new information when he thinks about the golden elephant.

With some of the tools he already has out, he starts to take the music box apart.

-000-

He catches Dick after the boy has had a long patrol and a midnight snack. Dick is aware of him before he makes his presence known and Bruce presents him with the gift.

“Hey Bruce! What’s that in your hand…” Dick immediately reaches out and cradles the music box. He instinctive pets the elephant on your head.

Bruce stays silent.

Not a moment later, Dick finds the key to start the music. It’s the beginning of how Haley’s Circus used to open.

Dick can barely take his eyes off the dancing elephant. “Bruce…?”

Bruce doesn’t have an answer for him.

“We should go to the circus,” Bruce says instead.

“Uh, of course.”

Bruce nods and starts to walk away.

A moment later Dick calls after him, “Thank you, Bruce, I love it!”

-000-

Although Clark said he would help, the case comes to an end when the toy person tries to work their abilities on one, Damian Wayne.

Clark finds out via the Gotham Gazette, but doesn't blame Bruce when he sees the article must have been written hours before release.

He stares at the picture on the front cover. Damian Wayne looks triumphant with the criminal in police custody. Bruce Wayne is on one knee, facing away from the camera, a hand on his son's shoulders.

The criminal doesn’t look too out of sorts, so it looks like they’ve resolved the issue quietly.

Even so, Clark decides that Superman could make a quick stop in Gotham tonight.

He’s just crossed over the border when the familiar sound of a grappling hook catches his attention. Only because of his vision, and the fact that he’s been friends with Batman for years, can he spot the familiar silhouette in the shadows. 

He lands silently and steps into the shadow so a random passerby won’t spot him. Batman doesn’t acknowledge him.

“How is he?” Superman asks.

For a moment, Batman doesn’t answer. Then he does something Super doesn’t expect, he sighs.

“Tired. It’s covered up by the adrenaline and the fact that he solved the case, but whatever happened made him tired.” 

Clark would normally say, ‘at least he’s doing well,’ but he’s not Clark right now. Instead, he doesn’t say anything. Batman broods, but better he brood in company than alone right now.

They stand together in silence. Clark would have been content to stay by Bruce’s side, but Superman has to continue to watch the world around him. He takes a quick scan of the neighborhood, his vision failing miserably to look through Gotham’s walls. Darn lead is everywhere in this city. He extends his hearing, but he mostly gets the sound of the wind howling through the night and the creaking of old metal. 

Sometimes, Superman thinks that the city is out to get him. However, it makes him more comfortable knowing he’s doing something.

Then there is a ‘thwip’ and Superman finds that his companion is leaving him behind. He follows slowly and as discreetly as possible, watching Batman move smoothly through Gotham. He’s admiring the sight of him when a sound catches his ear.

Someone’s crying.

Thankfully, Batman’s presence alone is enough to scare the group away, but whoever is crying continues to sob. Batman is silent and stays still, a protector for however long they want to cry.

Superman hesitates, but starts to fly away.

Bruce will feel better protecting someone than having someone try to comfort him.

-000-

Batman does not watch as Superman flies back into the sky. Instead his attention is focused on the young woman in front of him. She continues to cry and so he looks out in case anyone decides to take advantage of her emotional state.

He glances back at her. She’s dressed for a Gotham winter, but her clothes are new, bright, and eye catching. Her purse is name-brand and she has on jewelry. A tourist.

He almost sighs aloud when he spots the Wonder Woman jewelry and Superman patch on her jacket. He’s almost afraid to see if she has a Batman logo or any other hero symbols on her person.

After a moment, her sobs start to peter off into soft sniffling.

“I got lost,” she says, her voice still thick from tears.

Batman does not sigh even though he wants to.

Thankfully she doesn’t try to explain any further. She wipes her tears away and stands up shakily.

He doesn’t reply, instead moving forward through the alleys. The woman doesn’t need any prompting. She follows him silently and keeps pace. He leads her back onto the bigger streets. Batman molds himself into the shadows and calls a reputable taxi service to come in this direction.

It doesn’t take long before one starts coming down the street. Batman recognizes the license plate and the driver. He’s about to go away, when the woman calls back to. “Thanks for saving me.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Maybe I’ll get a Batman patch to match my other heroes,” she says, finally smiling for the first time he’s been with her.

He simply shoots his grapple gun and watches as the woman gets into the taxi.

-000-

The next evening he finds Wonder Woman waiting with a mug of coffee at the watchtower.

“That was a nice thing for you to do, Bruce.”

Batman does not look around this time, because he knows that no one is in the room with them.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” he says. Then sits in the chair for monitoring duty. Wonder Woman places the mug in front of his hand and he grunts a thanks before taking a sip. She made it exactly how he likes it.

“Of course you don’t know anything about the Wayne Foundation making a sizable donation to my favorite women's charity” she says.

He takes another sip of coffee and switches through the channels, making sure to do his job instead of gossiping.

“And of course, you have nothing to do with the good media that comes with it. Of course that has nothing to do with Bruce Wayne making an announcement about backing the charity and wanting to open a branch in Gotham,” she says. Her voice is warm and she’s probably smiling and her eyes are most likely sparkling like their prone to do when she’s laughing on the inside, but Batman doesn’t turn to look at her to confirm this.

When Batman doesn’t reply, she places a soft kiss on the exposed skin of his cheek. However, after the kiss she doesn’t pull away. Instead she wraps her arms around him and presses her cheek against his and starts to laugh at him.

Batman does not grumble, nor does he pout. Instead he continues to do his job.

She laughs and laughs, but eventually does stop laughing to say: “Thank you for the wonderful present, Bruce.”

When she pulls away, he replies. “You’re welcome, Diana.”

-000-

There’s only a few days left until the Holiday Party at the Watchtower and Bruce does not have a gift for Clark yet. He's trawled over dozens of stores in dozens of cities, gone through hundreds of websites, and even looked through Clark’s apartment to look for a clue of what might be a good gift for him.

He’s thinking that he should just give him cash, but he hasn’t used up all his resources yet. He didn’t want to use this one, but he’s running out of options.

“Is there a reason that you’re ruining some of my dishes, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks.

Bruce does not roll his eyes, but that’s only because he’s staring intently at the water on the stove top. He’s waiting for the water to become a certain temperature, but he can’t let the water boil.

“Actually, I was waiting for you, Alfred,” he says.

Alfred, who was about to start tidying up the mess Bruce had made, stops.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” Bruce suggests.

He can feel Alfred’s gaze on him, but thankfully Alfred goes along with it. He’s probably curious enough to not let his instincts get the best of him. Just like Bruce planned, Alfred picks a stool at the island with the least amount of clutter in front of him.

Thankfully the water is done and Bruce turns the stove off. He takes the kettle off, pours the suggested amount of water into the teapot, then adds the tea leaves.

Bruce can tell that Alfred is itching to do it himself, so he finally tells him his problem:

“I don’t know what to get Clark for the Holiday Exchange.”

That gets Alfred’s attention. He’s finally staring at him and not paying attention to what’s in Bruce’s hands. Once he’s prepared the teapot, he marks the time.

“I’m assuming you’re trying to get a gift that will, ahem, show the extent of your friendship?”

“Yes,” Bruce says. He gets two sets of tea cups, with their saucers and spoons.

Alfred doesn’t answer, but Bruce can see the considering look he’s giving him. He makes sure that he has everything else prepared, the strainer, the sugarcubes, and the lemon slices.

“Why don’t you invite him over for Christmas?” Alfred says.

It’s not what he would have expected Alfred to suggest. Perhaps a physical object, or maybe even dinner, but inviting him over, that’s not something he would of have thought of.

“Alfred, all we do is sit in front of the television and take turns going on patrol. I don’t think that’s how Clark wants to enjoy his holiday. I know for a fact that’s he’s going back to Kansas to visit his mother,” Bruce replies.

“I know you and the kids sit in front of the telly for days. But perhaps that’s something Mister Kent could enjoy. He doesn’t have to worry about his secret identity, but he has plenty of people to keep him company, and if he leaves he doesn’t need to make any excuses to us,” Alfred explains patiently.

Bruce thinks it over and tries to find a way to refute the suggestion. There isn’t any exceptional reason not to invite Clark, especially if it’s after Christmas. And he agrees with all of Alfred’s points and the kids (as well as himself) would enjoy his company.

But is it an appropriate gift for the Holiday Exchange?

He mulls over this question as he pours the tea through the strainer into the tea cups.

“Sugar?” He asks Alfred.

“Ah, perhaps one.”

Bruce places one cube into the teacup, then stirs without allowing the spoon to hit the sides of the cup. Then he places the lemon slice on top. He puts the spoon back on the saucer in the position that he’s seen Alfred place it before. He places the tea in front of Alfred, then starts putting everything else away. He pours then drains his own cup quickly and excuses himself from the kitchen.

“Thanks, Alfred,” he says, but he’s already miles away, trying to think of how to invite Clark over and if the invitation is good enough as a gift.

-000-

Bruce doesn’t even notice the gaggle of people that are in his living room when he stalks past. He’s too deep in thought.

They stare as he goes away, presumably to the cave in order to stew in his thoughts.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Damian hisses, “What’s wrong with him?”

Cassandra shakes her head while Dick sighs.

“He has been giving out a lot of gifts and none of them have been for Superman,” Tim adds.

“We know for sure that he got Superman in the Holiday Exchange, right?” Stephanie looks at everyone.

Dick steps up with an answer. “Yeah, I had both Diana and Zatanna on it to make sure they got each other’s names.”

“And they’ve received presents! From Bruce! Really spectacular presents that they both love!”

“It’s a coincidence,” Jason says.

“It’s a coincidence that he’s sending wonderful presents to all of his exes?” Damian hisses.

Stephanie is about to say something, but Cassandra stops her with a hand on her shoulder. Instead, she mumbles, “Geez, he’s been with those beauties.”

“Puh-lease, they deserve to get stuff for dealing with Bruce,” Jason says. Most of them agree, while Dick tries to elbow him. “The biggest problem is he’s giving gifts to the other capes, in full view of Supes.”

Dick sighs again, “Yeah, I heard from Diana that Clark’s getting a bit nervous because Bruce is giving people the ‘perfect gift.’”

“Has he found anything for Clark, yet?”

The kids share a glance, and in one look they know that he hasn’t.

“He’s been going to every store in Gotham,” Dick says.

“Not to mention, he looks online for hours for the perfect gift,” Tim adds.

“Which means what?” Damian looks around. “That while he’s looking for the perfect gift for Superman, he finds the perfect gift for everyone else?”

Everyone nods.

“I mean, even I got a gift,” Steph says, surprise coloring her voice. “He left it where I usually sneak into the manor.”

Damian snorts, “It’s not like it was a secret where you were sneaking in.”

They tussle briefly, but thankfully there's no blood.

Dick turns to Jason, “Did you get anything?”

Jason makes a face, “Yeah, he left it at one of my regular safehouses.”

“Everyone got something, even Titus and Ace!” Damian points to the dogs and their new beds. Somehow, Bruce had figured out two beds in which the dogs would not fight over.

“Not everyone has gotten a gift,” Tim says tentatively.

“Everyone’s gotten a gift, Hal, Barry, Vince, Billy, Kendra, Roy, hell, even Guy got a gift. So yeah, everyone’s gotten a gift.”

“Well-”

But before that sentence can be finished, Alfred walks into the living room. He has the most perplexed expression. He’s carry a tea cup on a saucer. The kids hold their breath, waiting for him to speak. 

“Master Bruce, just made me the perfect cup of tea,” he says in way of explanation.

All the kids groan.

“Everybody’s gotten a gift,” Cassandra says solemnly, and everyone agrees.

“Everyone, but Clark.”

“I believe that Master Bruce will be inviting Mister Kent over for the holidays,” Alfred offers.

“Really?” Tim says skeptically. “All we do is eat food and watch reruns of Christmas movies so we don’t miss anything when we have to go on patrol or have to save Gotham.”

“Wait. That’s actually a good idea,” Dick says. “Clark is a hero like us and Alfred makes the best snacks.”

“And he’d probably like Bruce’s old fashioned choice in movies,” Jason adds.

“But that’s still not a gift,” Stephanie points out.

And it’s true, while Clark will appreciate the offer, it’s not exactly the romantic declaration they had hoped for.

“Maybe we’re going around this the wrong way. Maybe, instead of Bruce giving the perfect gift, we should have Clark get him the perfect gift,” Dick says.

“That could work. A good gift from Clark and forcing them in the same room with each other might be the key,” Jason agrees. Dick tries to ruffle his hair, happy that he agreed, and Jason fends it off.

“What’s a good gift for Bruce, that’s not something we’ve already got for him?” 

“Wait, let’s go the other way around. What’s the one thing we all do for Bruce?”

They look at each other and say at the same time: “The Mark of Zorro.”

“It’s perfect. We have Clark buy tickets to that stupid movie we always watch with him.”

“Okay, then how do we go about this without arousing suspicion?” Damian asks.

Everyone slowly looks towards him.

-000-

Superman flies through the skies of Metropolis. He’s found that his presence can be a deterrent especially during the holidays when people may consider turning to crime. Then the hair behind his neck starts to rise. He’s being watched.

He looks down and sees some familiar figures waving at him. It’s Nightwing and Robin.

He flies to their roof. “Hey guys.”

“Hey, Big Blue,” Nightwing says. Robin nods his head at him.

Superman smiles. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what’s up?”

“Tch,” Robin pouts and crosses his hands, but doesn’t add anything else.

“Robin here has been getting a little too much attention from Batman,” Nightwing explains. Robin goes over to the ledge and does a very good impression of Batman looking over the city.

“Ah,” Superman says, totally understanding. “So you’re patrolling Metropolis?”

Nightwing nods. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he says. Robin seems to hunker down, completing his Batman impression. It doesn’t look like he’s going to move from that spot anytime soon.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go back soon. We have to fulfill the annual Christmas tradition with B,” Nightwing mentions.

“Christmas tradition?” Superman asks, trying not to let the interest bleed through. He still hasn’t picked up anything for Bruce. Maybe his kids will be the key to getting him a present.

Nightwing shrugs, “Yeeeah. Every year we get together and go watch a movie at the small theater that he likes. Gets real grumpy when we don’t go. I asked a few of the Titans and some of the Teen Titans are going to help patrol Gotham while we all go. We’re thinking since it’s not Christmas, a baddie won’t interrupt us.”

Superman laughs, know how that goes. “Well, I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks,” Nightwing says with a grin.

Superman hears a scuff of a boot and sees Robin stalking back to them.

“There’s a robbery in process over there,” he points and it looks like he’s about to take a running start before Nightwing snags him.

“And that’s our cue to leave. We’ll leave this one to Superman,” Nightwing says as he pulls Robin into a headlock.

Superman smiles fondly and takes off to go stop the robbery.

Afterwards he can go buy the tickets.

-000-

Tickets bought, he feels infinitely better when he goes to visit Ma to get the pies for the party at the Watchtower.

When he gets inside he breathes in the scent of sugar and fruit.

He tries not to frown when he sees the flavors. Key lime, blueberry, strawberry rhubarb, but still no apple. Weird.

“Hi, sweetie,” Martha says. He bends down so she can give him a kiss. “Did you want a slice before you go?”

“Sure, Ma,” and goes to grab the utensils and glasses for the both of them.

Martha sets out two slices of- boston cream pie?

She catches him staring at the pie like it’s from Mxyzptlk.

“Oh, Clark. I’m just trying out some new recipes, you know that,” she says, before taking a bite.

Clark slowly takes his own bite. It’s not a bad pie, but it’s not a flavor that he’s known his mother to bake. Same with the lemon and the lime and the banana. She’s always been a fan of pies that have local ingredients.

“So, did you find a gift to give to your friend?” She asks.

“Yeah, I did actually. I got us tickets to a movie theater he likes to go to,” he replies, happy to finally be able to tell her.

“You’re finally asking him on a date? Oh Clark, I’m so happy for you.”

Clark startles.

“Ma! It’s not- it’s not a date. I just wanted to get him a good gift, that’s all.”

She wrinkles her nose at him. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble, for just a friend.”

His heart sinks and he sets his fork down. “It’s complicated. I can’t even remember when we decided it, but it’s not something that can happen.”

It’s a familiar conversation and he’s glad when she doesn’t continue it. However, he has to look away when she gives him a look of sympathy. “Oh, Clark.” She pats his hand before putting the pie away. “You can finish this tomorrow. Just have fun at your superhero party.”

“I will, Ma.”

-000-

Batman is digging into a slice of blueberry pie and trying to decide how to talk to Superman. He’s avoiding the rest of the League, no matter how many of them want to wish him a happy holiday, when he takes his first bite.

He takes a second bite.

He’s scowling at the pie when Superman approaches him.

“Hey, Batman, what did that pie ever do to you?” He asks, jokingly.

“This is your mother’s blueberry pie,” Batman states.

Superman is thrown for a moment. “Yes, it is. The other flavors are new ones, but this is one of her classics.”

“This is the same blueberry pie that you had bought last year,” Batman says.

“Oh, yeah. I did bring a blueberry pie last year, didn’t I?” Superman agrees.

But this year, Martha Kent didn’t pack any apple pie, her son’s favorite.

Interesting.

Batman takes out a evidence bag, bags the pie, and tosses his plate and fork out. Superman watches, bewildered.

“Happy Holidays, Superman,” Batman says. Then he stalks over to the zeta tubes and leaves.

-000-

On Christmas day, there are quite a few villains out and about. While Superman’s not happy to be working on a holiday, he’s glad to have something to distract him after yesterday’s party.

Clark ponders on Bruce’s behavior, but tries not to let it get him down. He didn’t even get the chance to give him the tickets, let alone talk to him. And what was wrong with his mom’s pie? Sure, it’s not apple, but her blueberry pies are just as delicious.

He’s looking forward to having Christmas dinner with his Ma, if only to be able to sort out his thoughts and plan out his next actions.

When he gets a break from crime, he flies to Kansas. He goes into the house and changes quickly into a Christmas sweater and some comfortable pants.

The smell of dinner is wafting through the house. Then he spots the spread. He’s glad that he’s brought a wine that Lois recommended, but he should been here to help. He places the wine down and goes over and kisses his mom on the cheek.

“Sorry I couldn’t help you cook, Ma.” His mother hands him the masher and goes about mashing the potatoes, the very last of the dishes.

“Oh, it was alright, Clark. I saw the news and today I had help. I’ll go change while you finish those potatoes and then we can start.”

Clark continues to mash the potatoes, almost forgetting to add the milk since he’s looking at his mom. Then he finishes them and places them in on of their nice serving dishes.

He stares at the spread again. Now that he’s taking another look there are differences that are standing out to him: the dishes are plated more neatly, the scalloped potatoes are exceptionally fine, and all the extra supplies and dishes have been put away. Even the kitchen looks cleaner than before. Now who would have been here to help?

His mother doesn’t mention it and he doesn’t ask. Instead Clark eats as much as he wants and makes sure to serve his mother. They chat about his job and about her book club. Clark makes sure to share the gossip and good deeds of his friends, both caped and not, and Martha makes sure that Clark is up to date on the farm and their neighbors.

Hours later, Clark is putting aside the dishes so that they can make way for desert. He'll put away and do the dishes later. When the table is clear, his mother pulls out a pie from the oven. Clark smiles. He’ll never get tired of his Ma’s pie.

Then Martha cuts into it and places a perfect slice in front of him.

It’s apple.

“Ma…” And he trails off, because she hasn’t been making apple pie for weeks.

“Ta-da!” She says with a bright smile on her face, and goes to serve herself a piece. Clark gets out the forks and the glasses of milk as is normal.

When his mom is seated and is digging into the pie in front of her, he finally takes a bite. It’s a perfect apple pie and he grins and slowly chews to savor the taste.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen that face,” she says. “I should have asked for your help before, but well, it’s fixed now.”

“Was something broken, Ma?” Clark asks.

“A while back I couldn’t figure out why my pies weren’t coming out right. They were a little different. I tried to fix the ingredients, the oven, but I couldn’t figure it out. I just didn’t know what to do. I knew some people wouldn’t be able to tell, but I could. I didn’t want anyone to notice ‘till I fixed it.”

“So, you made different flavored pies,” Clark fills in.

“That’s right. But this afternoon? A bus broke down near the house and suddenly there were a handful of kids and a handsome man with a wonderful accent come to my door to help with dinner. And when they all left? I found a note saying that the KitchenAid was fixed and that I could finally make apple pies,” Martha finishes, her eyes sparkling.

Then she stands up. “But I’m sure this note is for you, Clark.”

Clark takes the paper. It’s unremarkable and small and has his name written on it. He flips it to the other side.

**Happy Holiday Exchange**

Is all that’s written, but Clark can recognize that handwriting anywhere. He didn’t even try to disguise his handwriting. Hell, the ink is smudged and there’s part of a fingerprint on the note. He brushes his fingers against that print.

His mother huffs and he looks up at her. “Just a friend,” she says, shaking her head.

Clark can feel his cheeks getting warm.

“Ma? Do you mind if I-”

“Go to him, Clark. And bring the rest of this pie over, will you?” She pushes the boxed pie for him to carry. She must have wrapped it when he was looking over the note.

“Thanks, Ma,” and he leaves in a gust of wind, but not before cleaning everything and giving his mother another kiss.

-000-

He makes it to Gotham in record time and starts to listen for Bruce. Not surprisingly, he’s brooding. His whole body is still and his breast silent, but Clark can still hear the sound of his heartbeat. Luckily it’s coming from the manor.

A moment later he spots Bruce on the balcony, staring out into the forest behind Wayne Manor. He’s in a short sleeved shirt which shows off his scars, but the cold doesn’t seem to bother him, even though he must be cold when it’s snowing.

Not a second later, Bruce looks up and sees him.

“Clark,” Bruce whispers, but Clark can hear him loud and clear.

Clark lands gently next to him. Bruce watches him curiously, but still silent, even as Clark places the pie on the handrail.

“I got your gift,” Clark says with a grin.

Bruce looks at the pie. “Apple, your favorite.”

“My favorite,” Clark nods. “How did you figure it out?”

“The blueberry pie from the party. I had a slice last year, but the two were different even though you said the recipe hadn’t changed.”

“And the kids? And the- handsome man with the accent?” Clark says with a face, finally registering his mom’s words.

Bruce smirks. “The kids found out and wanted in on the plan. They called some others to help patrol Gotham while we were away. Then Alfred took them in to distract your mother while I fixed what was wrong with the Kitchenaid.”

Clark shakes his head. “You’ve certainly earned the title of World’s Greatest Detective.”

“Maybe,” Bruce agrees. Then he falls silent and looks away.

Clark stares at him, unabashed. He gently brushes the snow away that’s accumulated in his hair and on his shoulders and takes a step closer.

Bruce turns back to look at him. “Clark?”

It’s not like him to take such liberties.

Clark takes a shaky breath before speaking. “I had bought us tickets to go see The Mark of Zorro. I was expecting us to go as friends, like always, but now I’m wondering why I can’t ask you on a date.”

Bruce's eyes widen, before narrowing. “There are thousands of reasons why we shouldn’t go out,” he says, gruffly.

“Tell me them,” Clark says in reply.

“What about Lois?”

“What about Diana? We never know until we try, Bruce.”

“We’ll have to keep it a secret.”

“All secrets get out eventually; among the League, among our friends and family. Tell me this is something you think you can hide from Alfred.”

“You don’t want to attach yourself to the members of this family, Clark. I don’t even know how many kids live in this house anymore.”

“This isn’t a house, it’s a mansion, Bruce. And it fits however many kids that you want. And you know I love some of those kids and I would love to get to know all of them. Try again, Bruce.”

Bruce closes his eyes. “I’ll be your weakness, Clark. I’ll be Superman’s weakness.”

Ah. Finally, a reason for why Bruce has been distant all of these years.

“You've always been my weakness, Bruce.” Clark admits. Bruce’s eyes fly open. “For as long as I've loved you, you’ve been my weakness, my strength, my heart, my everything.”

Bruce snorts. “You sap. Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean you get to say something like that.”

“Maybe I said it so you’d laugh,” Clark says with a smile.

He takes another step closer.

“Tell me another reason why we shouldn’t be together, Bruce,” Clark whispers.

There are more. Hundreds of reasons why they shouldn’t be together, but most of them are too personal to admit.

But before Bruce is forced to either lie or choke out another reason, Clark grabs his hand.

“It’s okay. We have time.”

He hesitates. Bruce doesn’t know what to do now that he finally has something he wants, literally in his grasp. He nods.

Clark smiles again and Bruce almost looks away.

Clark laces their fingers together and picks up the pie with his other hand.

“Now come on, I want to enjoy this pie with everyone.”

They’re about to leave the balcony, when Bruce says, “Tomorrow.”

Clark pauses.

“Tomorrow, let’s fly your mother here,” Bruce decides.

“That’s a great idea, Bruce,” Clark agrees.

Tomorrow can be a new start for everyone.


End file.
